A/N: Written for the Tracy Quartermaine Ficathon's Fake Spoiler Challenge. Technically, this is not a fake spoiler, since it actually did happen on the show. This story just shows what should have happened.

It was late when he got home. The Quartermaine mansion was dark; apparently everyone had already gone to bed. Luke Spencer took off his jacket and decided to have a quick night cap before he hit the sack. It had been a long, weird day, and he was just as happy to have it end.

He found her in the living room, unwrapping presents in the glow of lamp light. Tracy Quartermaine, his wife of eleven months, hadn't bothered to turn on more than one light. She looked pretty, sitting there in the dark, her hair haloed and shimmering in the glow. There was a smile on her face as she opened one of the presents he'd wrapped for her party. There were two of the small figurines on the table already, and she was holding the tiny crystal hummingbird he'd nabbed from the library up to the light.

"Don't you know you're supposed to open the presents while the guests are still here?"

She looked up, her face surprisingly relaxed and open. "Luke. You're back."

"In the flesh, Birthday Girl," he said, ambling across the room to sit beside her on the couch. Nodding to the hummingbird she still held, he said, "That's lovely. Alan must have spent hours picking that out for you."

She grinned. "It's been on the book shelf in the library for years." She laughed softly at his sheepish expression.

Luke shrugged, caught. "Look, it was short notice, and I didn't think they would have the time--"

"Or the inclination?"

"To buy you gifts…" His tone was firm. It was bad enough that idiot Sonny Corinthos had crashed her party, but she didn't need to be reminded that half the guest list had to be bribed, bullied, or coerced into attending. "Besides, each and every one of these gifts was lovingly chosen for you by my little own fingers. They all have sentimental value."

Tracy lifted the hummingbird in mock display. "And the sentimental value of this is?"

"It was there in the room the first time your father told me to divorce you and I decided to ignore his threats and stand by my woman. A banner day, if you recall."

"I don't recall. And this?" she asked, setting the hummingbird on the table and lifting a cloisonné box instead.

"Is the very first item you told me not to touch." He put his hand over his heart, making a show of basking in the memory. "Oh, those were good times, weren't they?"

Tracy couldn't help but laugh. "None of these things have anything to do with anything, do they, Spencer?" She reached out to touch his cheek, then thought better of it, pulling her hand back and placing the box back on the table next to the other gifts. "It was sweet of you, no matter what."

"You..erm…never really thought they were gifts from your family, did you?" He kept his eyes on her, searching her face for any sign of emotion, for any clue to those tightly-held feelings he knew had to exist under that wall he called Tracy.

"I saw you handing out gifts when I was walking down the stairs." She shrugged her shoulders, tilting her head slowly to each side to loosen the muscles in her neck. "I admit it took me a moment to put two and two together."

Luke leaned back, rubbing a single hand through the shock-short spikes of his white hair before reaching behind her to get another gift. As he handed her the tiny package to open, he said, "Not much advanced math, there, Spanky. People plus presents plus birthday girl usually only equals one thing."

"You know, Luke," she said, turning the package over and over in her hand as she spoke. "I know this might be hard to grasp, considering my copious friends, my reputation as an extremely kind and generous woman, and my amazing popularity in this town…" Her grin was half mocking, half sad. "But nobody has ever thrown me a party before."

"Spanky, I'm shocked!" But he said it gently, knowing that Tracy was not exactly the type to admit such things, even in a humorous and self-deprecating manner.

"Well, there was that ticker tape parade they threw when I moved to Europe the last time," she added as she began to open the gift he'd given her. "But since I wasn't actually invited…Oh…"

She paused as she realized what the gift was, a small blue nutcracker, the kind that looked like a toy soldier. Luke watched as she gingerly removed the last of the paper from it and held it like it was made of spun glass. There was a long pause before she spoke.

"You were in my room," she said finally, in a soft, faraway voice.

"Yeah." Luke leaned in slightly, trying to get a better look at her face. She had cringed when she saw the nutcracker, hunched a little, lowered her gaze. If it had been anybody besides Tracy, he would have sworn she was protecting herself from him. "It's nice."

There was another pause, and then her voice came out cold and hard. "You have no right rummaging through my things, Luke Spencer."

"Whoa, wife. I didn't hurt it. It's safe there in your hands." He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. "Let me guess…" he ventured. "Lila?"

She shot him a look, followed by a moment of closed eyes and a heavy sigh. Then she nodded. "I was about nine or ten. I was in my ballet phase back then."

"You took ballet?" He tried to picture tiny Tracy in a tutu, but the potential for comic alliteration was too high and he didn't want to ruin the moment by laughing out loud.

"No," she admitted. "My parents were stuck in that Victorian mindset that said a female daughter of privilege should be well-rounded in the arts. Imagine their shock when I showed an interest in business." She shook her head sadly. "No, business was not a proper interest for a wealthy young woman. I did, however, take every other lesson you could imagine--piano, painting, sculpture, voice…."

"Voice? So that's where Dillon and Ned--" He was about to make a comment on Dillon and Ned's musical skills, but her warning glance shut him up. "No ballet, huh?"

"I had absolutely no skill for dance. Zilch. But I loved it anyway. For about a year or so, I read every biography there was on dancers, choreographers, famous ballets." She smiled in remembrance. "I drove my mother crazy."

Luke pointed to the nutcracker she still held. "You got this at the ballet?"

Tracy sighed, placing the little soldier on the table in resignation as she turned to face Luke. "It was the winter before my tenth birthday. Mother surprised me with tickets to The Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet. It was freezing cold, and we were both bundled up in our heaviest coats as we took the cab from the hotel to the theater. I remember being just amazed by the people and the lights--it was my first real trip to New York, and it was just me and Mother." Her eyes seemed just a little bit nostalgic as she continued to tell the story. "We had dinner at The Four Seasons. I remember they put mint leaves in my iced tea. And we walked through FAO Schwartz. Oh, you should see that place at Christmas time…" She paused, freezing just a little bit. When she started again, she seemed more like Tracy, less enthusiastic, more cynical. "The ballet was beautiful, you know. It's not the most sophisticated of all ballets--after all, it was intended for children."

"Which, at the ripe old age of nine, you hadn't been for years," Luke interjected.

"But the dancers--oh, they were beautiful. I just imagined having that much control over my body, being able to--" She stopped, a grin replacing the sense of wonder that had threatened to usurp her control once again. "Mother bought me this nutcracker from the gift stand in the lobby. We had to wait almost thirty minutes, but she didn't seem to mind. We talked about the show and she insisted that we go to Lindy's for coffee and cheesecake after we were done there. Daddy didn't think a child should drink coffee, and Mother knew it was a big deal for me to be able to drink it."

"Sounds like a magical night. Please don't tell me you were mugged or anything…"

Tracy chuckled. "No, nothing like that. The night went off without a hitch. We spent the night at the Plaza, got back to Port Charles the next morning in one piece, and the following evening Daddy told me I was going to boarding school in Switzerland."

Luke blinked. "Just like that? No warning, no hints that it was coming?"

She shook her head. Her lips were pursed, and she seemed to be holding her shoulders a little tighter than she normally did. "Alan never went to boarding school in Switzerland," she whispered. Then, in a normal voice, she said, "When I asked my mother why, she simply told me it was a wonderful opportunity for me, and how much I'd love Europe, and how cultured and refined a young lady I'd become." She reached forward with a single fingertip and pushed the nutcracker onto its side. "She knew all along. The ballet, Lindy's, even FAO Schwartz--they were all just things to pacify me, to placate me before they dropped the bomb."

"You can't know that for sure, Spanky." Luke wrapped an arm around her and, to his surprise, she didn't resist when he pulled her against him. "Lila was probably wanted to spend time with you before they…" He sighed. "That just sucks."

"Yeah." She was leaning against him, her head against his shoulder. "I was gone on January second. Oh, but I came home for Christmas. And over the summer holidays, Mother always flew out for two weeks to take me on some educational tour or another." She glanced at him, rolling her eyes. "When I was twelve, I got to see the Spanish monasteries."

"Peachy!" Luke said, with sympathy. "And they never told you why?"

"I guess they were trying to make a lady out of me." She didn't resist when he tightened his grip around her or when he began to rock her gently. "I never was the subservient type," she added. "I guess they just didn't know what to do with me."

Luke kissed the top of her head, saying nothing for a long while. While he had no room to talk about their lack of parental involvement, he couldn't help being furious with Edward and even Lila, a little. Luke knew from his time in the Quartermaine mausoleum that Edward Quartermaine ran his family with an iron fist. Lila had probably had no say in the matter of sending Tracy off, but she could have at least warned the poor kid.

But Edward, Edward was just…well, Edward was just Edward, and Luke doubted the old bastard would ever change. His absence at Tracy's party, while glaring, wasn't even commented on. Not even Tracy had asked why he wasn't there.

Now Luke understood why. Edward had never been there.

And he found himself wondering, for what had to be the zillionth time in his almost year-long marriage, just what sort of woman Tracy might have become if she'd been born to parents who had gotten her, who had valued her strengths instead of trying to force her into a mold she could never fit.

She was bright, funny, shrewd, and fiercely loyal, in spite of Edward and Lila Quartermaine.

Who would Tracy Quartermaine had been if she'd ever once been loved and understood?

"You're mighty quiet for a Spencer," Tracy said. He could hear it in her voice. She was regretting opening up to him, regretting sharing that much of her past, making herself vulnerable. Tracy was a proud woman, and she could not stand pity.

So he wasn't going to pity her.

"Just wondering why my gorgeous wife has not even considered offering me any left-over birthday cake," he said brightly. "Don't tell me you vultures didn't even save me a piece!"

She seemed to shake out of it, too, because she pulled herself out of his arms and onto her feet in a single, fluid motion. "Actually, we all sort of lost our appetites after the whole Sonny-Emily fiasco. I think Alice put it in the kitchen. I could get her to fix you a piece if you--"

He stood, putting his fingers to her lips. "Now why would we go and bother Alice at this time of the night? We have hands, we have feet, we know how to use sharp instruments to cut things." He waggled his eyebrows at her reaction to that last bit. "Care to join me, wife?" And without even waiting for her response, he linked his arms in hers and led her to the Quartermaine's massive kitchen.

"Shh…." he said as he turned on the lights. "Whatever you do, don't wake Cook." Tracy nodded. Cook was pretty much the ruler of this domain, and even Tracy seemed a little intimidated when entering the inner sanctum.

"I'll get the plates," she said. "You find the cake."

It only took moments before they were seated at the kitchen table, two enormous pieces of birthday cake in front of them. Luke took a bite, closing his eyes as the taste hit his palate. "I simply do not eat enough cake," he mentioned as his tongue did a happy dance.

Tracy took a bite as well, her face dissolving into a state of pure bliss. "How on earth did you know to get lemon filling?"

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Do not tell me that's your favorite."

"Chocolate is for amateurs," she purred, taking another bite. "I'm going to send Sonny Corinthos a thank you note, because we are not sharing a bite of this."

"So," he said, examining her plate as she continued to eat. "Hate the frosting or love it?"

"Hmm?"

"I noticed you're eating all the cake and none of the frosting. So, either you're saving the best for last, or you're picking the part you like out."

Her smile was huge, and she actually laughed. "I didn't even know I was doing it. It used to drive Daddy crazy, how I'd eat the cake first and gorge myself on the frosting afterwards."

"Ahhh…" Luke said knowingly. On impulse, he dipped his finger into the creamy yellow frosting rose on his own slice and offered it to her to taste.

She looked embarrassed, almost shy, but leaned forward to lick the frosting from his finger. "Oh, my god," she sighed as she tasted it. Luke didn't hesitate, hardly thought about it. He just dipped his finger back in the frosting and offered her another taste.

She licked it slowly, savoring it, apparently completely unaware of the affect she was having on him.

"Next time, I'm going to ask Alice to just forego the cake and make you frosting for your birthday."

"Not the same thing," she said, starting on her own piece again, carefully working to get the cake to filling ratio perfect before she lifted the fork to her lips. Luke tried hard to remember that there were things on the planet beside her lips, but from where he was sitting, they really seemed to be the only thing of importance at the moment. "Frosting has to be served on cake to have any real culinary value."

"Or fingers," he added, immediately kicking himself as she snapped back to herself, obviously realizing what she'd done by eating frosting off his fingers. Her cheeks got immediately pink, her lips pursed tightly. She seemed almost angry at first, then the emotion on her face dissolved like mist, leaving only the cool façade Tracy normally showed the world. "Don't flatter yourself, Spencer."

"Oh, but flattering myself is one of my favorite past-times, Spanky Buns," he cooed, knowing instinctively that the moment had been lost. At least this time it wasn't Georgie and Dillon interrupting. Tracy had been so embarrassed that time they'd almost kissed, really kissed, that she'd given him the cold shoulder for days.

They ate together in silence for a moment. He thought about playing footsie with her, just to throw her off balance, but then decided against it. Tracy had shared a heck of a lot with him tonight, and he didn't want the night to end in a fight. He looked at his watch. "It's eleven fifty-five," he told her. "Your birthday is almost over."

She smiled tightly, then relaxed and put her fork down. "Look, it was really nice of you to throw the party for me. You'll never know how much I appreciate it." She frowned. "Luke, don't blame yourself for what happened. You know, it's just a Quartermaine thing. We can't have any sort of family gathering without some sort of drama ruining things." She took his hand in hers. "You should know that by now, husband."

"Well, yeah…" he said grudgingly, wrapping her fingertips in his own. He noticed their smoothness, their delicate shape, the refined manicure. These were a lady's hands, no matter how rough and tough Tracy acted on the surface. He lifted them, brushing his lips softly against the tips. "Still, I wanted it to be nice."

"It was nice," she insisted. "I got presents, cake I don't intend to share, attention…and it lasted almost ten minutes before a gangster walked in and ruined it." She lifted a single, sardonic eyebrow. "In Quartermaine terms, that's a rousing success."

"You have a point, my Spanky." Luke reached into his pocket for the gift-wrapped package he'd been carrying around all day. He'd been debating whether or not to give it to her all evening. Tracy was difficult to read, and he never knew what would set her off. For instance, there had been no way to predict the nutcracker situation. He'd just thought a nutcracker would be the perfect opening for a joke about his and Tracy's relationship.

But here they were, minutes away from just another day, and he knew he'd been right to do it, to get this one last gift for her. He pulled the package out of his pocket and laid it on the table in front of her. "Here's one you missed," he said. It was a small package, no bigger than the palm of his hand, wrapped in silver and white paper. There was a tiny silver ribbon on it.

No card.

"Ooooh, wonderful!" Her voice was playful, not at all mocking. "You found my iPod!"

"Haha, just open it, you ungrateful harridan." He watched, fascinated, as she opened the gift. He would have pegged her as a ripper, but she carefully peeled away the tape and wrapping to reveal the tiny velvet box. It was the darkest shade of red he'd ever seen, and when she held it up to look at it, the color flashed every hue from white to red to almost black.

"Luke Spencer, if you stole this from my jewelry box…"

"I have the receipt in my wallet, if you mistrust me so cruelly…"

She held her breath, opening the box to reveal the two perfect three-carat diamond earrings. He'd spent a fortune on them, using a sizeable chunk of the Haunted Star's receipts to make sure that the platinum setting was perfect and the diamonds themselves were just right. "Oh…"

The look on her face was amazing to him. Every time Luke Spencer thought he knew his wife, she surprised him. Like going all speechless at the party, like her choked, heartfelt "thank you." He knew for a fact that these earrings were Cracker Jacks prizes compared to the diamond mine she had in her personal collection. But she stared at them as if he'd given her the crown jewels.

And then it hit him. How much of those rocks in her jewelry box were bought and paid for by Tracy Quartermaine? If nobody had ever thought to give her a party, who would have thought to give her jewelry? Maybe something token, for Christmas or such, but something especially for her?

She finally found her voice, and it was beautiful to him. "These are…Luke, you can't afford this."

"Of course I can," he joked, reaching out to take the box from her hand and liberate the earrings. "I've got a wealthy wife." At her horrified look, he added quickly, "Who will not be seeing a charge on her credit card bill for these diamonds. No, Sugar Plum, this ice is Spencer-purchased, through and through. Now, remove that costume jewelry from your lobes, wench, and let me see you sparkle."

Tracy couldn't wipe the smile from her face as she quickly removed the earrings she wore and replaced them with the diamonds Luke had given her. She turned her head slightly to let them glitter in the light from the kitchen ceiling fixtures. "What do you think?" she asked.

He leaned forward, kissing her left earlobe before whispering, "Almost as beautiful as the woman wearing them." He pulled back slightly, surprised to see a sad look on her face. "What, what? Don't you like them?"

"You don't…" She bit her lip, turning away. "You don't have to flirt with me, Luke," she said in a rough, hoarse voice. "The party, the gifts--it's more than enough. You don't have to flirt with me." She smiled tightly, eyes closed, head lowered. "It's already been the best birthday of my life, which is kind of sad considering my party was crashed by a notorious mobster."

"This isn't about obligation," Luke said, lifting her chin slightly as he leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the mouth. "You really are beautiful, Tracy."

She breathed out softly, both of them knowing it wouldn't go beyond a kiss. Things were still too complicated between them, still too intertwined with other people and other dramas, for them to move any further with what they were both starting to feel.

Luke, for what it was worth, regretted it. He wasn't the type to drag his feet, especially when there was a woman involved. But he knew, just as he was sure Tracy knew, that their's was no casual thing. And Tracy Quartermaine was not the sort of woman whose heart you played with.

Still…

He leaned forward, no hesitation this time. She didn't resist when his lips touched hers, or when he pressed his palm to her neck to guide her gently toward him, his fingers twined in her hair as their lips parted slightly and the kiss deepened. She didn't resist as their eyes closed, as their warmth and scents and hearts intermingled for a long, long moment.

And when they parted, for the briefest of moments, she looked perfect. Her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed, she was an utterly stunning beauty with lips that tasted like lemon-filled cake and loneliness.

"Happy Birthday, Baby," he whispered as, somewhere in the Quartermaine mansion, a grandfather clock began to chime out midnight.

The End /lj-cut